


Dance of the damned

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fatherly Bobby Singer, Introspection, M/M, POV Bobby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby watches a dance that's never going to end well, but he'll keep the wolves from the door long enough for the record to stop spinning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance of the damned

**Title:** Dance of the damned  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Pairing/Characters:** Sam/Dean Meg/Castiel  
 **Word Count:** 1,077  
 **Summary:** Bobby watches a dance that's never going to end well, but he'll keep the wolves from the door long enough for the record to stop spinning.  


  
To the uninitiated they look like a bunch of crazies with guns and crossbows and giant silver tuning forks. Maybe a group of religious zealots, what with the crosses and bottles of holy water in their hands.

To any other hunter, they simply look like four disparate and dishevelled human beings fighting for what's right in a world so wrong it's on it's ass and crying.

To the people in the know, to Bobby and Garth who are watching from behind an upturned Dodge, they are a well oiled and very strange machine. A machine that by rights should be chewing it's own cogs.

They spin in a formation of four, bloody and beaten back to bloody and beaten back.

The man in the Colombo overcoat with a stick up his ass is actually one of heavens messengers, sent to do, not even god knows what anymore.

What he's doing right now is curling an arm around the petite brunette with gore dripping down her chin, and if you look close, like Bobby always does, every time overcoat tightens his arm round her waist from behind, she winces in obvious pain, but doesn't stop the flesh on flesh contact. It's as if she likes the burn, the searing of heavenly against unholy.

Because she's a demon. Black eyed, black hearted and possibly black right down to her once was human soul. Bobby's never really taken the time to find out if she still has her soul, for all he knows there could be a swinging brick and a vacant sign, but judging by the way she moves as an absolute mirror to the man at her back, he thinks there's a vestige of soul left there somewhere.

No one fights for the right to feel the fire against their skin unless they have a reason, buried deep as it might be.

Meg and Castiel are two of a kind from different ends of a world so fucked up that they seem to have found a certain synergy that Bobby isn't going to question. Not in a place already so depraved that a little cold comfort in the dark is worth a thousand whispered words of devotion.

Garth doesn't see it all, he sees enough to put that kicked and confused puppy look on his face. As he struggles to reload the sorn-off in his shaking hands, he keeps stealing glances at the quartet of blood soaked heroes, and Bobby can see some kind of realisation dawning.

He makes a mental note to take him to one side later and give him a stern talking to about people, or non people and their right to feel whatever the hell they choose about other non people.

As another car comes sailing neatly overhead to land not four foot away from the badly hidden duo, the tall and none too gangly man holding a crossbow dipped in holy water, ducks and throws a hand against the shorter leather jacket wearing guy's hip. Fingers splayed just enough to hook one in a stray unbroken belt loop.

He too needs the feel of another at his back, despite the fact the two men can barely stand, they're A-framing each other into a semi upright position, and that's as it's always been. If one falls, the other comes tumbling down the rabbit hole right after.

It's been years, years and years of fighting and fucking it up and having each other's backs even when they don't want to or realise it.

There's never been another set of people, man woman or organic other, to be so tightly bound to each other.

As all four twist in a macabre dance of death, just another Tuesday, the shorter of the two men flails a hand backwards until he can slide two fingers down the back of his partners jeans. Skin to skin, Bobby sees the sudden sense of calm come washing over them both, despite the fifteen possessed bodies circling them with murder and glee flashing in their blackblack eyes.

Bobby watches Garth watch the brothers, and practically hears the dimes dropping in the slot, and for one second he thinks he's gonna have to have a real word about the way things work in their messed up universe. And then, to Garth's credit and Bobby's relief, he sees an acceptance slide over the young hunters features. A small satisfied smile that says so much more than any explanation of what he's seeing play out in front of him could ever cover.

Bobby's not really worried about the outcome of this particular battle, it's a simple matter of Dean and Sam fighting side by side with Cas and Meg. It works, it always works, they might not like it, but suck it up buttercups. In that one act, in those twists and turns of having each others backs, that's all this fight needs.

Because who is ever really going to win against two hardened hunters who love each other more than there own souls and a demon so hell bent on feeling the sting of heaven at her fingertips, even when it burns her black heart so badly, that the angel with his hand branding a mark into her flesh can taste the small grain of goodness she's been trying so hard to hide from him.

They aren't right, by heaven or hell's standards. The brothers who became lovers who saved the world for the soul mates they didn't realise they needed, or the demon and the angel who on cold dark nights when they can hear Sam and Dean taking what little comforts they can find, come crashing together in the same forbidden dance.

Bobby knows they ain't right, but they're true, to each other, as fucked up as that may be, and he's willing to keep the secrets of the people who've fought so hard their whole lives or un lives to keep this little ball of gas and water spinning at the right speed.

A hunters life is short, a demons and an angels is so long it burns a path across the sky, but in that one moment, with Garth nodding and aiming a double barrel full of rock salt and the members of team free will fighting like they've got baying hounds at their heels, in that one moment, Bobby sees so clearly how it's all gonna play out and he won't be the one to break open that box of frogs.

He'll just keep on keeping on and help those that can, do.

 

 


End file.
